The Happiest Place On Earth
by TheSilentPen
Summary: "Finn Hudson won't be asking Quinn Fabray out anytime soon... At least, not at Disney World" Jazz pianist Rachel Berry has a huge crush on head Cheerleader Quinn Fabray. It's too bad her best friend, Finn Hudson, does too. When Finn plans to ask Quinn out at Disney World, Rachel will pull out every stop to thwart his plans. AU. Faberry.


**Disclaimer:** Don't own glee or any of its characters.

**A/N:** This is another one of those documents like **Something Silky, Satin and Sultry** that I found cleaning out my laptop. It's from 2010 when I first started in the section, and it features band geek!Rachel Berry. Slightly fearful of releasing it, but here's a roll of the dice again.

**Let me know what you think **and I really hope you enjoy. :)

* * *

**The Happiest Place on Earth**

_TheSilentPen_

* * *

'_I do not like Quinn Fabray,' _you think to yourself, tightening your hold on the steaming soy latte in your hand. '_Finn is __**my**__ friend. Friends don't backstab each other. I __**do not**__ like Quinn Fabray.'_

Jealousy flares fresh in your veins as Finn's giant, stupid hand reaches over to grasp pale, delicate digits belonging to said girl. Your expression sours as you put your coffee slowly to your lips, burning your mouth on the scalding liquid as it trickled down your throat, sullied by the bitter taste of envy.

You'd been friends with Finn Hudson for the last nine, uneventful years of your life.

It'd started in kindergarten during your joint PE class. Noah Puckerman threw a then miniscule Rachel Berry off the monkey bars so you wouldn't pollute them with your 'cooties.' Finn Hudson, a rather large boy for his age and eternally grateful for the Bob the Builder fruit snacks you gifted him, proceeded to pelt Puckerman's head with dirt clods until the self-proclaimed bad ass of Ms. Art's class ran crying off about sand in his then rather pathetic Mohawk.

That day gave birth to the 'superman of all friendships' (Finn's words, not yours). Finn defended you from other people's taunts whilst you stood as the voice of reason, acting as Finn's confidant (if you weren't such a nice person, you'd probably just say you were the guy's goddamn brain).

There seemed to be little problem with this arrangement until you reached junior high. Finn, the more athletic of the two of you, got involved in the school's flag football team. You, on the other hand, put your music lessons to use and had yourself baptized into the band program.

There stood a large social division between the two of you. The 'demi-jocks' as you so dubbed the prepubescent, crackly voiced, acne ridden boys, were at the top of the food-chain whilst the band geeks sat comfortably at a neutral low (no one really wanted to deal with the fact that when you messed with one band geek, you messed with them _all_, and bad things happened to those who messed with band kids—example: Jacob Ben Israel strung up by his underwear on the Warrior's sword, screaming about shining metal, drums, and pain).

Finn stood his ground as your friend, though. He'd stuck with you for so long, he felt an innate loyalty toward you. Your friendship was something he cherished and would not betray, not even at the greatest promise of popularity.

Years passed, Finn grew taller and well-muscled, his voice deepened, and he dated several girls before the end of his time in Middle school. You grew a little taller, gained a melodic edge to your voice, trimmed the baby fat off your cheeks, and well…

_You_ gained a liking for _girls_.

It wasn't something that just _happened_ over night.

You'd tried dating boys. In seventh grade you had your first kiss with the then Jazz vocalist at the time Jesse St. James, an eighth grader as well as Drum Major in the marching band.

Jesse was smooth, his voice had already deepened out of the prepubescent crack that most boys in middle school possess, and he was fairly good looking.

You should've felt something.

Something as exciting as the dark, melancholy color of your favorite blues riff or the organized cacophony of instruments blending together to create something beautiful.

But you didn't.

All it seemed to be was the press of dry, chapped lips against yours. The wet, almost shiver (in a gross _'eww, get away from me!' _way) inducing crawl of his tongue against the tight line of your resistant lips. Saliva against clean skin.

It made you push him away and claim that it just made you feel 'too much' ('_yeah, too much slober,' _you thought as you wiped the spit from your lips with a grimace after a smug Jesse left the room), then sat at the piano and stared blankly into the distance.

Was that what it was supposed to feel like? Nothing more than skin sliding against skin? Unpleasant? Unwanted?

'_Insignificant_?' you dared to think as you pressed your fingers against your lips with a slight frown.

Jesse was _everything_ a girl like you should've wanted. Handsome, musical, talented, kind (albeit sleazy)…

Were you really meant to feel _nothing_?

'_Because honestly,'_ you thought to yourself as you pressed the keys of the piano lightly. '_My music turned me on more than that kiss.'_

And honestly, the high that accompanied a performance _did_ feel more sexual than that dry, pathetic, dog slobbery kiss that Jesse planted on you.

'_Maybe I just have an exhibitionist streak,'_ you mused, idly ticking out the melody to _Fever_ with a joking smirk. You _had_ been performing since you were merely _one_.

But all thoughts of jokes faded away when you stood in the changing room with the other girls for a concert at Disneyland and you all but _eye sexed_ Brittany S. Pierce, the lead Tenor Sax player, from across the room.

It hadn't been _intentional_.

You'd slipped your tuxedo shirt on and had started on the buttons of your vest before you looked up to ask Brittany to help tighten the straps…

Only to be met with the _shirtless_, _toned_ (how the fuck could a middle schooler already look _that _good?!) torso in your face.

Suddenly, you felt a little dry in the mouth and a _lot_ _wetter_ somewhere else that you'd rather not think of.

You could _swear _Brittany was talking to you. But you, like the pervert you were (or _now _were), kept on _staring_ at your shirtless sort-of-friend with a crazed, sex-deprived (it probably looked like you were some sort of goddamned axe murderer to her) look in your eyes.

And when you finally snapped out of it (brought out by Brittany asking you why you looked like a wack on crack), you suddenly noticed, oh, yeah, there's a whole _room_ of girls around you, all in various states of undress and your eyes are leisurely running across them.

You left the room feeling like a fucking teenage _boy_ and spend the night talking to Finn about your 'problem' over Mario Kart and a bag of peanut M&M's.

You eventually learned that you had _much_ better control of yourself than Finn (who asked you if you 'scored' ever). It took the rest of the year to learn how to manage your learning, but eventually you learned how tune out girls with music (you keep your iPod handy at all times) and keeping your eyes respectfully lowered to the ground.

High school arrived with a bang and the division between the 'elite' and the 'losers' was larger than it ever was in middle school.

McKinley likes to baptize its loserdom in slushies within the first weeks of school to determine who will fill the upper class and lower class.

You and Finn strode into McKinley the first day, wide-eyed as you witnessed several students pressed against the lockers with jocks at their throats, grinning cheerleaders smashing colored ice down terrified faces, and teachers _ignoring_ it all.

You and Finn stuck together before class before the two of you part for your classes.

You managed to make it half the day without being slushied, much to your relief.

Until David Karofsky, who you remember from Lima Middle, dumped a grape slushy upside your head.

And now your brand new button down shirt, fucking favorite black vest, jeans, and black chucks were _drenched_ in crap.

And you thought you'd been baptized until loserdom.

Until you found out that band works the same as it has _ever_ worked when the McKinley High Band geeks extracted their very careful revenge with a paint and feathering several days later after you strode into band dripping wet (you heard Finn might've had something to do with it as well, but you're never really one hundred percent sure).

Finn became the Quarterback of the (pathetically losing) football team and you found yourself once more in neutral territory as pianist and Jazz singer in the McKinley High Jazz Ensemble.

You settled into your mutual roles quite well and no one bothered either of you.

…Until the pretty, blonde haired head Cheerio took a bit of an interest in you.

You'd been walking to class one day, looking over your freshly inked arrangement of '_Embraceable_ _You_' with a smile on your lips and a pencil tucked behind your ear when someone slammed you into the nearby column of chipped, red lockers, sending your sheet music flying through the air.

You gasped, watching your hard work fly about the busy hall with wide-eyes. You groped about, feeling for the pages, hurriedly gathering them until a bleach-white tennis shoe stepped into the path of the last sheet with a heavy 'tap.'

Your eyes drifted up a muscled leg, covered in fair skin, to meet gold-green eyes and the most _smug_ smirk you've ever seen in your entire fucking life.

You'd never seen this girl before, wearing the blood red, white, and blacks of WMHS' Cheerios.

She'd honestly been the prettiest girl you'd ever seen, with those _stunning eyes, _the gold of her hair tied back into a severe ponytail, the crimson smirk of her lips, and the chiseled perfection of her jaw.

You were honestly a little in love right then.

Then she opened her mouth and it was gone.

"Stay out of my _way_, tranny," she snarked, making you flinch. "That goes for your lesbian _porn_ too."

With that, the nameless girl pivoted on her heel and advanced through the crowd as it parted to admit her.

That marked the first time you clashed with Cheerleader Quinn Fabray.

Your little rivalry surprised a majority of the McKinley population who'd long since learned to leave Rachel Berry alone because not only was she a part of the band population, but the Quarterback's best friend and, therefore, off limits.

But Quinn never stopped throwing insults (Schroeder, Man Hands, Munchkin, and Tranny being her absolute favorites) and you never stopped fighting back (_your_ favorites were Barbie, Other Blonde, and Plastic Tits). In class, you _refused_ to work with Quinn and she, in turn claimed that she would _not_ be around your disgusting man hands.

"At least my hands can do _more_ than wave pom poms," you would reply with a smirk, before wiggling your fingers in her direction. "I contribute to society with music with these hands, what do _you_ do that's so special?"

It was a pattern that the entire student body adjusted to. Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray hated each other. A universally accepted truth.

A truth that changed the night of Noah Puckerman's party your sophomore year of High School.

Finn dragged you to the party under the guise of not wanting to go alone (you'd been pretty sure the only reason he wanted you to attend was so that he could get piss faced drunk and not have to worry about being responsible).

You'd never been one to party. Saturday nights were usually spent learning music theory, accompanying some of your band friends on their solo pieces, or fitting in some time to jam along to a bass track for several good hours.

But Finn insisted, and you were never one to let down your best friend. So you stood awkwardly in a corner, holding a Pepsi (without any rum or alcohol in it because, _fuck_, you hate the taste of the stuff) and watching the now _extremely_ docile McKinley Elite sway drunkenly to the beat of awful, generic music that makes you cringe with its unoriginality.

You stumbled upstairs in search of a bathroom to find Quinn Fabray sprawled across Noah Puckerman's bed, hazy-eyed with the mohawked idiot perched over her, biting savagely at her neck.

You acted almost immediately when you saw a sneaky hand fall below Quinn's dress and another reaching down to Puck's belt buckle.

"Puckerman, what the _fuck_ are you doing?" You strode into the room with a stormy frown on your face, watching Puckerman fumble atop Quinn, turning to look over her shoulder.

"_Berry_," he grunted, removing that fucking hand from between Quinn's legs. "Fabray's in good hands. We were about to start something good so if you'd-."

"How about _you_ leave the room," you hiss threateningly, "and get your ass downstairs before I get Finn to come up here and kick your ass for even _thinking_ of doing what you were about to do, Puckerman? Your sorry, mohawked bastard self will be off that football team so fast, it'll make it seem like you were _never_ on the team."

His eyes narrowed. "Berry-."

"Don't you _dare_ try to threaten me," you took a step closer, gaze thunderous. "You _know_ I can kick your ass. Get out of here now, or I'll make sure you're off that team, castrate you, then let Finn have the rest. I'm not joking, Puckerman."

Puck frowned before tightening his belt and getting up. "Fine then, Berry. You're such a cockblock…"

"And you're such a fucking bastard," your eyes narrowed. "Now get out of my sight. You make me _sick_."

When Puck left, you took draped Quinn over your shoulder, texted Finn asking him to get a ride home with one of his football buddies, and slowly laid her in the backseat of your car.

Quinn woke up hung over, squint-eyed, and lacking her usual venom, laying beneath the flannel comforter of your bed. She seemed grateful, rather than angry, to see you standing there with water, ibuprofen, and some dry toast in hand. You offered it to her, along with explanations of what happened the other night.

She's grateful to you and apologized for the last year of taunts. She said she was jealous of you. Of your friendship with Finn, because you have the courage to be who you are and not be ashamed of it, something that she lacks the confidence to do.

Her parents expect her to be perfect. You don't seem to be anything except what _you_ want to be, which is what _Quinn _wants for _herself_.

The two of you made a pact, a truce to be kinder to each other, starting that very next week at school when Quinn exchanged a slight nod with you in the hallway.

Nods lead to smiles, which lead to small conversations by lockers and during lunch. Eventually, it extended into band time, where Quinn comes in the morning, sometimes with a cup of coffee and a smile, to sit in a practice room with you and watch you sort music, or even sit and play at the piano.

You're surprised to learn that Quinn is not only beautiful, but smart, witty (when her wit _isn't_ used against you), and kind to a fault behind that stern, stoic, icy exterior.

You're surprised that Quinn can actually play piano _almost_ as well as you can. Her fingers dance across the keys of the school's bedraggled baby grand with practiced ease, sounding out lively jigs, slow sonatas, and melancholy concertos.

You loved having Quinn as a friend. She was everything you'd wanted and _needed_, because as lovely as having Finn as a friend is, you needed a feminine influence in your life (as lovely as Finn and your fathers are, they just can't give it to you)

But somewhere along the line, friendly feelings started to become less and less friendly. Friendly warm became something a little more all consuming.

Fingers linger over the keys during duets a little bit longer than they should. You stared at her lips for _so_ long before peering away. It hurt you a little whenever you see Quinn flirting with _Tommy_ or _Sam_.

Because God…

Some part of you thought '_that __**should**__ be me.'_

It _still _thinks that.

And you _still_ know that you love Quinn Fabray.

You don't know _why_ it happened, or _how_, but it did.

And you really _fucking_ hate it.

Because the little cross dangling around Quinn's throat taunts you. The way she squeezes your fingers comfortingly when you're upset haunts taunts you. The way her eyes soften to the lightest green as those _beautiful_ red lips arch in a smile taunts you.

But you can't do a thing about it.

Because you're not a terrible friend.

And terrible friends _don't_ like the same girl as their guy best friends, even if you _did_ like her first.

Somewhere along the line, Finn had confessed his desire to 'get in Quinn Fabray's pants' to you because she was 'a total babe' and 'really smart.'

And it'd made you dig your nails into the palms of your hands and want to throttle Finn whilst screaming '_I was there __**first**__!'_

But as far as you know, Finn has one leg up on you _just_ by being a guy.

Which was _really_ unfair.

You watched Finn start to converse with Quinn at lunch, use his 'gassy infant' pleased smile whenever he succeeded at making her laugh, watched him try to inch his giant bear paws over Quinn's delicate, _lovely_ hands…

Hell, he'd even taken to interrupting the time you spent in the morning with Quinn over the piano!

He spent his time sitting there like some moron in a plastic chair, talking to Quinn as she sat beside you on the bench, whilst you grind your teeth and let out random _sharps_ and _flats_ in the wrong fucking places during a profound solo when Quinn's lithe finger's play against that _idiot's_ hand!

And now here you are, on the bus ride to Disney World for a performance with the Jazz Ensemble, with Quinn beside you and Finn across the aisle (they'd paid their way onto the bus just to see you perform).

Finn's leaning over into the aisle, smiling that _stupid_ smile that he thinks is just fucking _charming_.

God, you just want to feed him a hot coffee and knuckle sandwich to the face.

Quinn seems to encourage Finn's attention, which sort of pisses you off even more (which doesn't really make sense to you because Quinn's a straight arrow). She's giggling, pushing small strands of blonde hair behind pale, delicate ears, and smiling rather openly at Finn's bumbling attempts of seduction.

You bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood and fight the scowl threatening to erupt across your features, turning away from the pair and facing the window. You shudder in relief as you sip your coffee, the smooth bitterness a welcome distraction from the metallic taste of blood.

"That's so _funny_, Finn!"

'_That's so __**funny**__, Finn,'_ you mimic in your head, scowling at the window, tightening your black trench coat further about your body, and pulling your suspenders down from your shoulders. '_What the fuck could he say that's so funny?! The only things he knows about are video games and football!'_

Putting down your coffee in the cup holder in front of you, you fiercely jam your ear buds in and force your eyes closed.

If you hear anymore 'oh Finn, you're so funny's in the remaining hours of this trip, you're going to _murder_ a bitch, throw her into sunny Florida's ocean, and laugh maniacally as the authorities try and fail to find the body.

And as you huddle into your seat, you can't think how _pathetic_ it is that you feel homicidal impulses because you and your best friend like the same girl.

You _never_ in a million years thought _that_ would be possible.

Hell, you thought it'd be more likely for Finn to pass Pre-Calc with a decent grade than for this to happen.

But no. You're Rachel Berry, jazz geek and relatively good person (when you don't feel like a murderous maniac) with two gay dads. This soap opera-y shit _has_ to happen to you.

You resolve to calm your axe-murderer desires and just fight to make it through this trip without breaking Finn's head in (God, you feel fucking guilty because you want to crack your best friend's head in for a _girl_), then you can go back to grinning and bearing it when you get back home to Lima.

But it seems like Finn can _never_ make things easy for you.

_Life_ can never make things easy for you.

Because as you sit on the cheap, wooden table at some shady rest stop halfway to Florida, Finn smirks and bumps your shoulder, staring unashamedly at Quinn as she talks with Brittany over on the other side of the park.

"I think she digs me," Finn says, leering as Quinn's top rides up as she stretches (_must not kill, must not kill)_.

"And what would give you that idea?" you ask sharply, biting into your plastic tasting ham and cheese sandwich, grimacing.

"Dude, can you not _see_ the way she's looking at me," Finn asks incredulously, almost as though you're speaking in some foreign language. "She's so into me."

"_Dude_, no I can't see it," you shoot back, scowling.

"You can't read girls then," Finn shakes his head.

You scoff, laughing slightly. "I _am_ a girl! How can I _not_ read girls?!"

"You don't really count, you like girls."

Your jaw drops slightly. "I'm going to _pretend_ I just didn't hear that statement so I don't smack you upside the head for your insensitivity, Finn Hudson."

"S-sorry, Rach," he says quickly, eyes puppy dog-ish. "You know I'm cool with it. It just came out the wrong way. It's just you're new to the bro-code of lady signals, since you only know the girl-code of dude interest."

"…Bro-code?" you cock an amused eyebrow, picking up your can of Mountain Dew and taking a quick gulp.

"I didn't teach you bro code yet?" Finn looks almost _scandalized_ as you shake your head. "My bad. We'll cover it later. But right now—Quinn Fabray is so digging me.

"And you know what, I really dig her," Finn nods as you roll your eyes, taking another hearty bite of your sandwich. "So I'm gonna ask her out at Disney World."

The food lodges in your throat as you choke, eyes widening. You feel Finn pounding you on the back repeatedly while the rest of the band looks to you, staring confusedly at you.

You wave your hand as you cough down the food, eyes watering before you turn to Finn. "Y-you're going to do _what_?"

"I'm going to ask her out," Finn repeats, grinning.

"You know, I'm not sure that's such a great idea," you answer, clearing your throat quickly, straightening your tie.

"Why?"

"…Because…" you fumble for an answer. "Becaauuuuseee… asking someone out at Disney is clichéd! Girls hate clichéd romance, it kills the moment. You need to be _original_."

"I thought girls loved all that tacky stuff though," Finn furrows his brow confusedly. "That's why you watch all those chick flicks and go all crazy over them. Because they're all tacky and romantic and corny and whatever."

"Nope, nope, we hate it," you shake your head quickly. "It's a total mood killer. She'll think it's terrible."

"But Quinn _loves_ Disney," Finn's voice is boyish and confused. "She told me so on the bus ride here. She told me she thinks all that Disney romance stuff is good."

"Oh," you don't know what else to say.

Someone out there is _really_ trying to screw you over.

"Yeah," the grin spreads to Finn's lips again. He pats you on the shoulder, and all you want to do is to _break_ every finger and wipe that smug smirk off his face ('_God, this is so messed up,' _you think to yourself). "Thanks for the concern, Rach, but I got this."

"Yeah," you mutter, looking to Quinn, watching her laugh, bright hazel eyes twinkling in the remaining light of the sun.

No one can say _no_ at Disney. It's the happiest fucking place on Earth… You can't say no at the happiest place on earth.

Dirty move, Hudson, dirty move.

You smile around a bite of your sandwich as an idea hits.

An evil, almost _pitiful_ idea.

But an idea that you'll take and put into action.

You take a sip of your soda.

Finn won't be asking Quinn Fabray out anytime soon.

At least…

…Not at Disney World.

* * *

The first save comes on your first day at Disney.

The three of you are standing in line for Pirates of the Caribbean, waiting to board one of the boats.

Tina and Puck are standing beside you, along with Finn and Quinn.

The five of you crawl closer to the head of the line with each passing second. You half listen to Tina and Puck arguing over the 'sexiest Jazz song of all time' whilst listening to Finn and Quinn converse on the fringe of your hearing.

The ride is dark, but you adjust quickly enough to see Finn's slobbering like a needy puppy dog all over Quinn's arm, touching it, running his fingers over it, and leaning closer. He's got that mischievous look in his eye, and you know precisely what he's aiming for.

Finn's a big guy, he's planning on taking up a whole row with just him and Quinn, so he's planning to pop the question on the ride and get all snuggly with Quinn in the process.

Yeah… not going to happen, Hudson.

You place yourself slightly between the two of them, continuing to speak with Puck and Tina as if you weren't planning something. Finn ignores you throughout your time in line and obviously doesn't see what you're trying to do.

Well, until it's too late (and you _know_ he doesn't think the whole thing is intentional).

As Quinn slides into the boat, you quickly follow after her, plopping yourself down beside her, before throwing a sunny, innocent smile at Finn's surprised, and pouty face.

"Hey, thought I'd sit with you guys. I'm a little bit scared of water and the dark and… you know, you're just my _best friends_," you say sweetly, making sure to add a little extra naivety to your bearing.

"Actua-," Finn begins.

"It's alright with me, Rach," Quinn smiles brightly at you, before taking your hand and squeezing it softly. "Rides like this creep me out a bit too. We can help each other get through it."

You hide a smug smile behind a mask of gratitude (though inside, you feel yourself fist pumping and yelling 'score!'). "Thanks so much, Quinn."

'_Attempt one: diverted,' _you think smugly.

Quinn doesn't let go the entire ride.

* * *

The next time Finn tries to ask, it's lunchtime.

You've gone back to one of the carts to grab ice cream for you and Quinn. One of those sinfully good chocolate dipped Mickey shaped deals, generously covered in chopped peanuts.

You trudge back to the table with a smile light on your lips (you did a hell of a job earlier), only to see Finn holding Quinn's hands in his bear-like paws, speaking in low, rumbling tones to her.

Something screams '_Code Red!'_ inside your mind, and you think of a solution as quickly as you can, your slow saunter moving to a swift power walk as you near the table.

The only thing you can do is think '_what a fucking good waste of ice cream_' mournfully before hiding your determination and apologizing to the bar of Mickey shaped goodness in your left hand before you fake a stumble.

You fall to the ground, the ice cream in your left hand arcing forward and burying itself in the green of Finn's shirt. You let out a scandalized gasp and a panicked wave of your hand as you watch the ice cream seep into the threads.

You see Finn curse as he grabs napkins from the table dispenser, and the slight irritation at being interrupted once more, and you deem your mission a success.

"Oh God, Finn, I'm so sorry!" you throw the smushed bar away, mourning it slightly because damn, that's good ice cream. "I tripped and… God, I'm so clumsy!"

"It's alright, Rach," he says stonily, and you know it's REALLY not alright. But Finn gives you a wincing smile as he stands. "I need to go clean this off… Be back soon."

You watch him storm off in the direction of the bathroom, hiding your smile behind your hand, which you've brought up to cover your mouth to look utterly _apologetic_. It fades into a melancholy frown as you let it fall, shaking your head with a sigh. "God, I really am a klutz today."

There's something unreadable in Quinn's eyes for a mere moment before she smiles slightly, patting your shoulder. "It's alright… we've all got days like that."

You look down at the remaining ice cream in your hand, appearing to contemplate it for a moment, before holding it out to Quinn. "…Would you like it? I'm… kind of… not in an ice cream mood anymore."

That's one of the biggest lies you've ever told.

Quinn studies you again, hazel a mess of greens and golds before she smiles, reaches out, and takes the ice cream in her hand.

Pale digits brush softly against your own and you nearly _shudder_ as they seem to caress yours.

"Thank you," Quinn says lightly, before biting into ice cream Mickey's ear.

You smile. "You're welcome."

'_Attempt 2: successfully foiled.'_

* * *

Finn's third try is comical.

He must be desperate, because he's aiming on doing it on Splash Mountain.

You know _you'd_ never want to be asked out on Splash Mountain. It's the most fucking psychedelic ride at Disney.

It's like some Disney imagineer was on acid and decided it'd be fun to make everything all dark, sing-a-longy, and trippy before plummeting innocent riders down to their doom.

And that dumb ass _rabbit_ needs to fuck off with his little taunting and laughing trip before the great drop of doom.

Finn's at the very _back_ of the canoe, Quinn seated comfortably on his lap. You're just before them, sitting on Noah's lap with a grin on your lips.

Because you have this _settled_.

You and Noah may not get along most days (what with him trying to sleep with Quinn and all), but the two of you can see eye to eye occasionally.

He'll help you this time, only because you promised him a bit of fudge along with the opportunity to see Finn Hudson squirm in his seat and mess up for once instead of being the so-called golden boy.

The two of you exchange smirks as the ride starts and you settle in.

Through the acid-trippy experience, you hear Finn talk lowly to Quinn about 'getting along' and 'really thinking she's pretty.'

As he gets to the main part of his speech, you give Noah a silent pat on the arm and he gives you a slight grin.

He reaches a hand into the water and throws in back, right into Finn's face before he pops the question.

You want to fucking _kiss_ him while Finn splutters around the question and glares at Noah.

You slap him on the arm indignantly, pretending to be utterly _outraged_. "Noah Puckerman! No arms and legs outside the ride at _all_ times, or did you not hear that!"

"But Jew babe," he drawls slowly. You can make out a slight wink through the crazy ass strobe lights of the ride, "that wasn't _arms_ or _legs_… it was an _arm_. Singular. With a hand attached. Not the same."

"Don't be a smart ass," you scowl, fist pumping him discretely.

"I'm not," he smirks lazily. "They should just be more specific."

By the time the two of you are done arguing, you can see you've pretty much ruined Finn's moment, because you're by that crazy ass rabbit, listening to it _laugh_ as you scream your way down the plummet of doom, soaked to the bone with water (well, there went your nice shirt and your tie).

Finn stomps from the canoe like a petulant infant, pouting as he leaves a trail of water through the dusty trail of Frontier Land.

You bite back a laugh and a smile as you watch him go, your shoulders shaking slightly.

'_Attempt 3: thwarted.'_

You freeze, however, when you see Quinn look at you with that indecipherable look again, blonde hair flat against her head.

You bite your lip slightly before pulling a towel from your bag, offering it to her. "I learned my lesson the last time I came and I don't like to walk around with my hair wet… I get a jew fro… Here."

Her eyes soften to the lightest green a she gives you a soft smile, taking the towel from you. "Thank you, Rach."

Your heart warms.

For the second time, you merely smile. "You're welcome."

* * *

Finn tries twice more during the day to ask Quinn out.

And you're successful in thwarting _all _of them.

Trying to ask on a walk to Space Mountain? Just stick your foot out and give him a little trip.

Trying to get some alone time on It's A Small World?

Sing obnoxiously loud from behind them in Spanish, before throwing your arms about them cheerfully and continuing on in every _other_ continuing language whilst Finn scowls angrily at your merry attitude.

He didn't even _get_ the chance to ask Quinn out during the Jazz performance, because she'd been so fixed on the performance.

You comped with a little bit more spirit than rehearsal that morning, your fingers flying quickly across the keys, not a stray flat or sharp in existence, a smile on your face as you solo'ed on 'Friend Like Me.'

Now, at the end of the day, you can sit down near Disney Castle and give yourself a pat on the back as a scowling, angry Finn sits beside you, stabbing angrily at his root beer float while you whistle 'hi-ho' merrily with a grin on your face.

What a great, productive day, a job well done.

You smirk. You might even go crazy and buy yourself one of those sinfully great Churros.

You get up to do just that, passing by the clock tower on the way, when someone grabs you and pulls you into the darkness of a nearby corner by cross of your suspenders.

A yell is muffled behind an urgent hand as the person presses you against a wall, shushing you softly.

"Rachel, it's _just_ me… Relax," your muscles loosen as you hear Quinn's voice sound against your ear. Her hand leaves your mouth and comes to rest on your shoulder. You make out the brightness of her eyes and the slight smile on her lips.

"Q-Quinn, what's going o-."

"Why don't you tell me?" she cuts through your speech smoothly.

You cock your head confusedly. "What do you-."

"What you've been doing all day," she interjects. "On the rides… tripping Finn, that thing with Puck… You've been stopping him from talking to me all day. Why?"

Your jaw hangs loose as you struggle to form words.

God, she's caught on to you.

'_Mission abort!'_ Someone yells into your mind. '_Mission abort! Run!'_

But you can't, because she's got you against a fucking _wall_ in Main Street, right out of the bright, merry lights of the nearby parade.

"He wants to ask you out," you say slowly, thinking. "And… I… I didn't want him to ask you here, it's unfair."

"Unfair?" Quinn questions.

"Yeah. It's Disney World," you gesture about you, "who can say no here?"

She stares hard at you for a second, and you think she's bought it, until she smirks. "You _really_ think I'm going to buy that?"

Oh shit.

"I'm going to guess a little something, Rachel," she purrs softly, lifting her hand to your cheek and running her fingers smoothly across your skin, eliciting a shudder. "You tell me if I'm right, hmm?

"You found out Finn was going to ask me out sometime before we got here," a sneaky hand traces a line down your chest and pushes under your shirt as Quinn comes closer. "And… you got jealous. _Really_ jealous. So… you decided you'd do something to stop him…"

A warm mouth falls to your throat, caressing it softly as your eyes widen dramatically. Oh _God_, what was she doing?!

"You spent the entire day diverting Finn's little attempts to ask me out…" the kisses trail up to the underside of your chin. "…Which I have to thank you for, by the way…

"You did it because…" Quinn's lips are inches from yours, her eyes dark, a smirk there. "…You like me… Am I right?"

You stare at those lips for a while, frozen, before Quinn gives you a light shove into the wall, sending a shudder down your spine as she looks down at your own lips, that fucking smirk still intact.

"I said… _am I right?"_

"Y-ye-." Your words are swallowed as Quinn's lips fall against your own, a groan pouring forth from your throat.

And _God_, aren't first kisses supposed to be sweet and chaste? At least, aren't kisses with the Celibacy Club president supposed to be that way?

Because Quinn's kisses _definitely_ aren' t that way. They burn and sear as she moves her lips smoothly against the clumsy movements of yours. A sneaky hand takes one of yours in her own and places it _under her shirt_, and you're pretty sure you just rounded second base within minutes of your relationship.

Well… if that's what this _is_. You're not quite sure.

She shoves you further against the wall, forcing a gasp from your throat and her _sneaky_ tongue into your mouth.

What the _fuck_.

Several minutes later when you part for air and you blearily open your eyes to see Quinn staring at you, pupils blown, lips swollen, and hair mussed, you wonder what alternate universe this is.

"Q-Quinn," you stutter. "Wh-what is this?"

She smiles against, this time a real _genuine_ smile as her fingers come up to caress your cheek bones.

"I like you, Rachel," she says shyly (how can she go from hot, to shy in two seconds, you have no idea how). "I really like you and… I really would like to be with you."

Your hand plays through blonde hair as you smile softly. "I'd… really like to be with you too, Quinn. I… I really like you too."

She smirks. "Mmmm, I know. You're hot when you act all possessive and fend boys off."

You scowl. "It's not _my_ fault."

"Of course it isn't," Quinn chuckles, placing another soft kiss on your mouth. "…But I'd like to repay you for it. You were my hero today."

"…Well…" you rub your chin thoughtfully. "I _do_ remember a _lack_ of payment for my services. Maybe you _should_ pay me back… _later_."

"Later?" that smirk again, oh God. "Oh no, I'll start _now_."

You frown. "But what about the-."

"Children?" she purrs mockingly. "They're all watching the parade, sweetheart… You're mine for a good hour, and I plan on making the best of it. Repayment will start now… and I'll be _sure_ to pay _interest_…"

You have one last coherent thought before Quinn descends on you:

'_Goddamn, this __**is**__ the happiest place on earth.'_

* * *

**A/N:** There's the end. Really hoped you all liked it :)

You know what'd make THIS the happiest place on earth for me…? If you'd leave a little review down at the bottom in that box right there, so I know if you liked the fic or not :)

Here's to hoping it wasn't an utter train wreck!

By the way, you like my writing? You just want to talk? Want to follow me?

Link to my Tumblr is on my profile page :)


End file.
